Distant Echo

A dream remains suspended at time’s threshold,
the echo slides over mountain crests,
and carries a name that the day keeps silent.
It crosses the river of memory,
whispers unseen cities and distant voices,
while a light melody draws stars upon the dark.
The door of night remains slightly open,
a breath invites crossing the thin mist,
but the step remains suspended, between present and desire.
At dawn the echo stays, clear and fleeting,
a thread connecting what was to what will be,
and promises a return that knows no time.